That’s when she sat next to me. She started talking about things I couldn’t even hang my hat on. How the wine in the VIP lounge wasn’t dry enough. How the business she conducted in the cab on the way to the airport would change my future. How she had made friends with the guys at security checkpoint. She was talking and I was hanging on every word. And my phone was vibrating and vibrating and I ignored it and ignored it. She twirled her hair and she showed me things in her bag. Everything had a story. She gave me an apple just before her flight’s final call. I stood up to hug her good-bye and she thought I was standing up to kiss her good-bye, so she went for it. Now we were both embarrassed. Then she left and I was standing there like the guys in those movies that just stand there at the end, and I wanted to chase her, because I wanted to know more about the book she had been reading and why she was going to London. But I just stood there like these guys in the movies that just stand there, and listened to the mix of flight announcements, 80s elevator music and people panicking around me and I just wondered if I’d ever see her again. My phone started vibrating and it woke me up out of my stupor. It was a text from you and it said something about how you were listening to early Kings of Leon and how you finally realized what the song meant, and how it reminded you of “the last time”, and how food didn’t taste as good tonight. That’s the text message I was reading when the stewardess asked me to turn my phone off for the 4th time. When I opened my bag to get the Dazed magazine (with Bjork on the cover) and my Cool Ranch Doritos, I saw the apple that the “London girl” had given me. I gave it to a little boy who was fighting with his sister and he calmed down. The lights went off, and the plane went into night-flight mode, with only a few overhead lights on. By the time the plane was halfway there, I had already started forgetting about what I’ve come to describe to my friends as a “lack of poetry”. A lack of poetry that could have come between me and this excitement I felt when I got off the plane. The girl picking me up already had crazy ideas. A lack of poetry that could have made me miss the realization that I could thrive just about anywhere if I was inspired by love. All I felt was unmanufactured passion from the people I was hanging out with. I know poetry when I see it. It forces it’s way into the forefront of our consciousness, making us short of breath with it’s beauty. When I get back, maybe you’ll show me yours. But for now, Good Morning Brazil.
(written jet-lag over a delicious freshly squeezed mango frappe)
Veronica takes over my hotel room better than other girls do
Everybody’s standing up or dancing at your table. You’re the only one slouching in the leather seat, holding a vodka tonic that you’ve topped off with alcohol three times already. If mother could see you now she would chastise you for “bad posture”. You’ve been poisoned. Where is the excitement you used to manufacture, no matter what the circumstances? You are in undeniable pain. Everyone around you is having the time of their lives and you are here thinking about someone far away. You haven’t heard from them all day. You called. Twice. Did you do something wrong? You often wondered how it would feel to be here, totally out of control. Answer: It sucks. Your heart aches. Death Cab, you get it now. You saw them live when you were on top of the world. Back then, you were happily texting on your Blackberry and flirting in the beer tent. But now that you’re, you don’t know… Now that you’re fucked, you get it… You totally get it.
(written while Nicole was tricking her rival into drinking from the pee-filled Heineken can)
Jenna, all your LA charm won’t get me to believe you’re a tomboy
There was a time when you were totally in love with him and you couldn’t think of anything else. A time when it was cute that he was always on his phone, texting and being important. A time when nothing could go back to UJI. It would have taken a fire extinguisher to put out that spark, but now, all it took was the first round of Patron shots at The Hard Rock in Vegas. You tried to bring the feeling back, but it was on permanent vacation with an email auto-reply. It had gotten to a point where “inside jokes” were substituting for real conversation. And that was the point when you opened the door and the sun came in. Even your black jeans, your black shirt and your black nails looked grey underneath that powerful light. A light that made you fall in love with everything you came into contact with. It was ironic, you thought, how well you could “see” this “illusion”. It had been like a disease. A mirror game. His only thoughts and actions were reciprocations, if that’s even a word, but you know what I mean. But now, you realize now that you want someone that will drunk dial you out of the blue when you’re fast asleep in a hotel room in Hawaii and recite a poem into your voice-mail. Sorry though, there’s no time for reflection now: you have to pick up Kendra who is having drinks with her co-workers at Bronson Bar. You’re already starting to forget what it was about him that you used to be so excited about. All that PDA had been as fruitful as “chasing the dragon” at 5 a.m., and just as embarrassing the next day. Yes, it was a long, long night. And when you woke up on the Greyhound bus, ‘Motorcycle Drive-By’ was playing in your headphones and everyone was in their own little world, and just a few lights were still on. You closed your eyes again and realized that you still missed him, but that you were also still gladly letting him go. You were lightening your load in preparation for the next big adventure. You can’t stand by anymore while he figures out how to express himself. Sorry, the champagne is getting warm. And besides, there’s a little afterparty that you have to get to that you’re late for. You won’t have to flirt with anyone, or fuck anyone there to feel good about anything because you’re already on top of the world basking in this newfound clarity. You are relieved that you didn’t get sucked into something inferior, and looking forward to something awesome. Cue that Rachid song “Pride”, as the “door whore” gives you a double-kiss and lifts the velvet rope.
(written while I was on hold with my ISP)